Dead for Tomorrow
by ehee
Summary: When Eric reaches the fork in his road, which path will he choose?  Post DR.  Canon one-shot.


A/N - Seems like forever since I was inspired to write. The idea for this story came to me as I was listening to the Chris Young song _Tomorrow_, and it just wouldn't go away. Huge thanks and hugs to go nycsnowbird for looking this over for me and giving me some helpful suggestions. Any mistakes you see belong to Yours Truly.

Oh, and here's the link to Chris's video for those who are interested: .com/watch?v=ETVjll5eR88

Thanks for reading.

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><p>Eric sits alone in his office, the silence of the now-closed bar surrounding him like a welcome shroud. Tonight the din of the vermin screaming over the booming music had nearly driven him to the brink of insanity. He is still reeling from the aftermath of the upheaval caused by the sudden shift of power in Louisiana with the final death of Victor Madden, the king's regent. The two months since that bizarre night have been grim, and he holds little hope the ones in his immediate future will be any better.<p>

The vampire Sheriff of Area 5 had narrowly escaped being charged with Victor's murder, even though it had been his child Pam who had wielded the blade to separate Victor's head from his shoulders. Only the fact that the surviving vampires had already pledged their fealty to Eric, and the humans had been glamoured to within an inch of their sanity, allowed the bogus account of Victor's attack on Fangtasia (on the pretense that Eric was the only remaining sheriff from the Leclerq regime and was therefore a threat to Victor and to King Felipe de Castro himself) to stand as truth.

But Eric knows Felipe de Castro has not survived his undeadness for as many centuries as he has by being naïve or stupid. Though there is really no way for Felipe to disprove his story, Eric is certain Felipe knows the tale he has spun surrounding the regent's final death is a load of bunk. Victor Madden had stretched the limits of his authority to near breaking, and Felipe may secretly be relieved to have him out of the way, but Eric is aware his relief is something the king will need to keep well under wraps if he wants to keep order in his kingdom.

Vampire politics is a slippery slope. Felipe will not survive long on the throne of his multi-state kingdom if he shows so much as an inkling of vulnerability. 1700 miles separates Felipe's resident Las Vegas from his ruler-less New Orleans. Louisiana is a flashing target, ripe for the picking … and already on the queen of Oklahoma's radar since Eric's maker has recently offered him up to her in an archaic display of paternal entitlement.

Felipe and Eric know someone must pay for Victor Madden's death to avoid losing Louisiana in a hostile takeover.

And that someone is Eric.

**~oo0oo~**

ONE MONTH AGO ….

Eric sat on his "throne", enthralling the vermin that patronized Fangtasia for what seemed like the millionth time. The crowd thought him brooding and mysterious. Good. After a thousand years, he was the Master of Ruse. No one—deader or breather—had a clue to the storm churning just below the surface of his bored countenance.

Tonight his thoughts were of Sookie. He had not spoken to her since the night Victor and his crew were exterminated—in this very room, in fact. Although she had been the one to formulate their plan of action, when the deed was done she had been more repulsed than celebratory. Of course, he'd only had her words and actions to go by since she had severed the blood bond between them that would have shown him her true feelings. He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on that barometer for emotions until it was no longer there. He made a mental note to see to it the witch, Amelia, receive her just desserts for her role in its loss.

He was trying to give Sookie the space she obviously needed to come to grips with their relationship and how she felt about him, but she had made no move to contact him. And that spoke volumes.

Sookie's kidnapping and subsequent abuse by the fairies had changed her, and not for the better. Life had dealt her more than one crushing blow, and she had always managed to rebound. But not this time. Along with pieces of her flesh, Neave and Lochlan had taken pieces of her soul as well. The spirited girl who was willing to lay down her life for those she loved was gone. What was left was a jaded, mistrusting shell of the woman he once knew. She had lost faith in him, their bond, their marriage … and herself.

Eric was torn from his musings when four beefy vampires suddenly stormed through the front door and quickly scanned the bar area. The tallest of them gave a curt nod toward the door, and Felipe de Castro strolled in like he owned the place.

Eric's face showed no surprise. He had expected this; had been waiting for it, actually. He had known the fallout from their plot to kill Victor would come home to roost and it had, a month later—wearing a white, three-piece silk suit over a black collared shirt.

The thumping music suddenly stopped and all eyes turned toward the entourage that now commanded the attention of the room. The vampires bowed in deference; the humans gaped in awe. Eric stepped off the dais and moved quickly toward the group, bowing when he reached his King.

"Your Majesty," Eric said, not without a hint of dryness. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Felipe arched a brow at Eric's thinly veiled insincerity. "Yes, well, I've just finished the business of getting Manolo Arturo installed as my new regent in New Orleans. You know Arturo? I have reassigned him from Las Vegas. Such a nasty business, all of this political upheaval." Felipe sounded distracted as he brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket sleeve.

Eric knew Manolo Arturo very well. He'd had a run-in with him over a señorita in Spain in the early 1600s. Manolo was a giant a-hole as far as Eric was concerned, but he was ruthless and cunning, which Eric supposed were admirable qualities in a vampire in Manolo's position. Victor Madden had also been ruthless and cunning, but he'd added greed to the mix—a deadly combination, as it turned out.

Sensing all eyes and ears were on him and Felipe's little group, Eric motioned to Crispín, the bartender who'd replaced Jock (a casualty of the Victor mess), to turn the music back up and signaled an as-you-were to the bar patrons.

"Why don't we go back to my office?" Eric suggested to Felipe. "It will offer us more privacy."

Without giving Felipe time to respond, Eric turned and headed toward the hallway that led to his office. The two biggest bodyguards accompanied Felipe into Eric's office; the others camped out in the hallway just outside the closed door, a millisecond away should Felipe summon them.

Felipe helped himself to the chair behind Eric's desk. The two bodyguards took up a flanking position on either corner of the desk. Eric, left with few other seating choices, sat on the black leather sofa facing Felipe and eyed the bodyguards disdainfully. Felipe's smug demeanor let him know they were staying put, and that was that.

Roiling tension permeated the room before Felipe spoke. "I won't waste time beating around the bush. I was forced to spend far too much time in New Orleans securing Manolo's position there, and I have urgent business back in Las Vegas.

"The investigation into Victor Madden's death is complete. Even though there were no survivors to refute your story, I have serious doubts as to its validity. So does the Council. A regent has been assassinated, and someone must be held accountable."

Felipe had made it clear to Eric during their numerous recent phone conversations what he expected of him. Eric had had weeks to assess his situation and ponder his choices, not that his maker had really left many for him. Though his decision hadn't truly been his own, Eric knew in his heart he was escaping a fate worse than final death.

"Your Majesty, I believe I have the solution."

**~oo0oo~**

A month has passed since Felipe accepted Eric's proposal. The arrangements have been made. Eric's fate is sealed.

A sharp rap on the door brings Eric back into the present. Pam enters with a flourish, still dressed in her filmy black work garb. She stands in front of Eric's desk, crosses her arms, and gives him a piercing look.

"What?" Eric's tone is clipped. He knows what, but he is in no mood for a tongue-lashing. Not about this, and especially not from Pam.

"You know what?," Pam says sharply, echoing Eric's thoughts. She adds a tapping toe to her stance for good measure.

"The subject is not open for discussion, Pamela," Eric says crossly. "It is done."

But Pam will not be swayed. Time is running out, and once it does there is no turning back. "It's not too late to put a stop to this. Call Felipe, Eric. Tell him you've changed your mind. "

"I said no." Three little words, but it is the look on Eric's face that is Pam's undoing. In all their time together, he has always been so take-charge, even when following orders. Now he looks… defeated.

"Master, please … you don't have to do this. Surely there is another way …."

"Enough!" Eric roars, slapping the top of the desk with his huge hand. Pam cringes with the force of the blow. "I said it is done, and so it is. All the begging in the world cannot change things." He runs a heavy hand through his blond mane, looking warily at Pam. "Groveling does not become you, by the way," he adds drily.

If Pam's heart beat, surely it would be breaking. Redness pools in her eyes and she widens them to keep it from spilling over onto her cheeks. She knows the true reason for Eric's actions. She also knows the emotional toll he is paying for them.

"Has the list of preparations been completed?" he asks, knowing it has. Pam's efficiency is something he has never questioned. Neither is her loyalty. Her replacing him as sheriff was a wise choice.

"Yes, Master," Pam answers contritely.

"Excellent," Eric says as he moves from behind the desk to stand in front of Pam. He folds her in his arms, the pain of knowing how much he will miss her gripping his dead soul like a vise.

Maker and child stand locked in their embrace, neither wanting to let go. It isn't the fact that they are parting that makes his leaving difficult for them. After all, they had amicably parted company when Pam ventured north years ago. And they can be reunited in a few decades if they wish.

It is the reason for the parting that causes them both such anguish.

Eric gives Pam one final hug and then releases her. "Take care, my only child," he says softly, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"Travel well, Master." Pam's words catch in her throat as she chokes back a sob.

Eric exits the back door of the bar and walks to his new car. The new car to go along with the new chapter in his life. It is another Corvette of course, except this one is black. Like his heart.

He speeds through town until he hits the interstate and turns east. As the speedometer hits 90, he pulls out his cell phone and dials the number he has been avoiding for two months.

"Hello?" Caution clouds Sookie's voice as she answers the line. After all, a phone call at 2 a.m. generally means bad news of some sort.

Emotion chokes Eric and it is a moment before he can speak. "My lover," he whispers over the purr of the engine. His alabaster knuckles turn even whiter as he grips the steering wheel so hard he hears it creak. Control … control ….

"Eric? Is that you? It's so late … is something wrong?" Had she not done something so stupid as to sever their bond, Eric knows he would be able to feel the rising panic he can hear in her voice.

"No, dear heart. Nothing is wrong." Gods, how he hates lying to her. Many times he hasn't told her the whole truth, but that is purely for her protection. To tell her nothing is wrong now is a bald face lie. "I apologize for the late hour. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I've only been home from work for a little while. I was, um, actually just … stepping out of the shower," she says quietly.

Eric swallows hard. His self control is in serious peril at the thought of Sookie emerging from her bathroom, wet and dripping, clad only in a towel. He has been with no one since the last time they had lain together; such fidelity would have been a joke to him before her. Nor has he fed on any other human, subsisting solely on that bottled synthetic vileness. His gums tingle and his fangs emerge as he recalls the delectable sweetness of her blood.

"I am on my way to your house now," Eric says after regaining his composure. "Will you wait up for me?"

"Uh, sure," she replies hesitantly. "Eric, are you sure you're okay?"

"I am fine," he assures her, closing his phone without a goodbye.

As his car races through the night, Eric thinks about the decisions he has made and the series of events that have led up to them. Things have changed … he and Sookie have changed. Enough, apparently, that there is no getting back to how things used to be.

He also despairs that, after all these months, Sookie continues to rail against the significance of their blood bond and their marriage. She refuses to recognize what it means for a vampire to be bonded and wed to a human—what it represents in his world. She passes them off as his convoluted way of keeping her from becoming collateral damage in the melee of vampire politics that surrounds them.

She can't be more wrong. Never, not even during his human marriage, has he known such deep feelings for a woman. He loves her, as much as a creature such as himself is capable of love. But no matter how he tries to show her—no matter how many times he tells her—he simply can't make her understand. She is lost to him forever, and he grieves for her.

Eric slows and turns into Sookie's driveway, careful not to let the paint on his new car be chipped by flying gravel. Gravel which he had put there because Sookie said she needed it. Just like the cranberry-colored coat he bought her when her old coat got covered in Debbie Pelt's blood. As he approaches the house, he eyes the front door he had installed after the original one was broken on the night of the takeover.

By the time Eric pulls the car around back and shuts off the engine, Sookie is waiting for him at the back door. As he walks up the steps, she pushes open the screen door in invitation.

"Come on in," she says, a forced smile on her face.

Eric can't feel her emotions, but he can hear her heart race and her breath quicken as he nears her. Is she nervous or excited by his presence? He wishes he could tell. It would make knowing how to proceed so much easier. He has never felt so lost.

**~oo0oo~**

Their lovemaking is sweet and bittersweet with the events of the past months and the uncertainty of the next. When the rise and fall of Sookie's breath becomes rhythmic with sleep, Eric gently untangles his limbs from hers and quietly slips from her bed. He silently collects his clothes which have been strewn about the floor in their haste, and quickly dons them. Much as he would love to linger until the dawn, watching her as she sleeps, duty calls and he must answer.

Eric spares one moment before leaving to look upon his wife's slumbering form. In his heart, she will always be his wife. What they have shared together he could never match with anyone else. He lets his eyes feast on her beauty until it is etched in his memory and in his heart, where he will carry it forever.

As he walks to his car, Eric tells himself that this is the best way. The only way. She broke their bond, she refuses to recognize their marriage … he's put himself out there for her time and again, and every time she pushes him away. Now he needs to let her get on with her life—her human life—and he is resolved to move forward with his.

Turning the key in the ignition is like turning a switch inside himself. He has to let his vampire instincts take over if he has a prayer of surviving these next few years. Silently, he makes a pact with himself: Never again will he make the mistake of entangling himself so tightly with a human. A feed and a fuck—from now on, that's all they will ever be to him.

He can feel his heart harden as he drives down the long driveway through the woods and onto Hummingbird Road. When he reaches the interstate once again, he heads west toward Shreveport ... to the Anubis jet that is fueled up and standing ready to fly him to his betrothed in Oklahoma.


End file.
